Chapter 3 — Daughter of the Martial Arts Dojo

Jiang Lam Chau stood rooted to the spot, his face drained of all color. The voice in the first audio recording belonged to him. Luc Niem Sanh looked as pale as a sheet of paper. To Uyen Thanh rested her hand on the velvet armrest of the sofa, her knuckles bleached from the intense pressure. She did not spare Luc Niem Sanh a single glance; instead, her eyes were fixed on the antique clock lying on the floor—the very one the butler had carefully restored to the tea table, now resting with its ornate face turned downward.

Luc Thua Vien did not look at the clock either. His gaze was locked onto me, his adam's apple bobbing sharply as he swallowed. Meanwhile, Luc Nghien Ninh quietly retreated half a step backward from the gathered crowd, desperately widening the physical distance between himself and Luc Niem Sanh. I calmly reached down and turned off the recording pen.

You accused me of stealing. Yet the stolen items were placed there by your own design. You claimed I assaulted you. The physical handprints do not match the angles. You said the maid was too terrified of my martial arts training to come when called, yet no amount of calling brought her out.

I stood up slowly, looking directly into her frantic eyes.

From the very first day I crossed the threshold of this house, you have been putting on an act. I saw right through your little dramas from the beginning, and if I chose not to expose you immediately, it was not out of any respect for your feelings. I merely wanted to see just how far your shameless performance could possibly go.

Is that all you have to say?

She took a stumbling step backward until her spine struck the solid wooden frame of the sofa. The color of her expression shifted entirely. All the carefully cultivated, watery pretense in her eyes vanished, leaving only naked panic and malice.

Even if I was the one who set it up, so what?

Her voice no longer trembled with aggrieved tears, hardening into something sharp and shrill.

I have lived in this house for eighteen years. My father is Luc Thua Vien, and my mother is To Uyen Thanh. But what about your father? Your father runs some pathetic little martial arts school out in a rural county district...

She raised a trembling finger and pointed directly at my face.

Making a few thousand yuan a month at most. What on earth do you have to compare against me?

To Uyen Thanh's hand shook violently against the sofa. Luc Thua Vien's adam's apple rolled once more in grim silence. I pulled my smartphone from my pocket and dialed a sequence of numbers right in front of everyone. A single ring echoed through the room. I hung up immediately.

At that exact moment, the heavy doors of the banquet hall swung open, and a figure stepped inside. He was around thirty-seven or thirty-eight years of age, sporting a short crew cut, walking with the heavy, grounded stride of a lifelong martial artist whose soles met the earth with absolute stability. Spotting me across the room, he offered a subtle nod, carved a path through the stunned crowd, and stopped directly before me. He stood firm, cupped his fists in a traditional martial greeting, and spoke in a clear, resonant voice.

Junior Sister. Why are you in a place like this?

Absolute silence fell over the entire hall—a hush far heavier and more suffocating than the moments after the recording pen had finished playing.

Senior Brother Han.

Han Hai Dong turned his head, casting a cold, assessing glance first at Luc Niem Sanh, and then at Luc Thua Vien.

Director Luc. This young lady is the daughter of my honored master, Ky Tri Ninh.

My master is Ky Vien Chi, the eighth-generation direct successor of the Bactic Fist. Perhaps those of you conducting business circles here in the capital are unfamiliar with our lineage.

Half of the security contracts secured by the Rock Solid Security Firm are commissioned at the national level. And more than half of the men standing behind those high-level contracts are the disciples and grand-disciples of my master.

I came here today to oversee the security for the Luc family as part of a routine business arrangement. But this person...

He raised a heavy hand and rested it gently yet protectively upon my shoulder.

Is someone I watched grow up from childhood.

Whoever dares to lay a hand on her, is laying a hand on the entire martial lineage of Han Hai Dong.

In the vast, glittering hall, even the faint sound of crystal glasses clinking together had completely ceased. Luc Thua Vien stood up abruptly—the first time in eighteen years he had risen so decisively to face a situation concerning his own blood. He was looking at his daughter with newly opened eyes, no longer viewing her as a mere domestic nuisance to be managed. To Uyen Thanh raised both hands to cover her mouth in shock. Luc Nghien Ninh stood frozen like a statue. The glass of red wine in Giang Lam Chau's hand tilted sharply, spilling half its contents over the rim. Luc Niem Sanh took a desperate step backward, her lower back slamming violently against the edge of a side table, sending a full goblet crashing to the floor. Deep red wine seeped slowly across the pristine white tablecloth. No one moved to wipe it away. No one even bothered to look at her.

Senior Brother, thank you for coming.

Han Hai Dong gave my shoulder a reassuring pat.

Master told me to come. He said you might have need of us.

I lowered my gaze, a faint, cold smile touching my lips. Then I raised my head, fixing my eyes once more on Luc Niem Sanh.

You asked me what I have to compare against you.

I do not deign to compare myself to someone like you. You have spent eighteen years in this household, mastering the arts of framing others and spinning lies. You have truly learned those despicable skills to perfection.

My father spent ten years teaching me, and he imparted only a single rule.

Stand firmly upon the side of righteousness, and never, under any circumstances, kneel.

I turned on my heel and walked steadily toward the exit. As I passed by Giang Lam Chau, I paused for a single breath.

Mr. Giang. As for the cancellation of our engagement, I accept it. Do not ever come looking for me again.

Furthermore, let us be entirely clear: this is not you breaking off the engagement with me. It is I who am discarding you. Remember that very well.

He remained utterly silent. The glass of wine resting on the table trembled, the liquid at the base rippling faintly.

I stepped out of the banquet hall, leaving the heavy, oppressive silence behind like a massive stone submerged in deep water. That evening, I did not go downstairs for dinner. Three gentle knocks rapped against my bedroom door. Luc Thua Vien stood alone in the quiet hallway, his suit jacket draped over his arm, a single, sharp crease running down the back of his crisp white shirt.

Tri Ninh. His voice was far hoarser than usual. There are some things I wish to say to you.

There is no need for apologies, I replied evenly through the closed door. In our school of martial arts, we do not judge a person by their words, but by their hands.

The following morning, for the very first time, Luc Thua Vien picked up a piece of food and placed it into my personal bowl. His chopsticks hesitated halfway, depositing the morsel gently before withdrawing, though he remained entirely silent. Luc Nghien Ninh pulled out a chair and sat down—not beside Luc Niem Sanh as he usually did, but right next to me. He dragged his chair outward by a fraction of an inch, maintaining a respectful distance, yet he had firmly chosen his side. Luc Niem Sanh kept her head bowed over her bowl throughout the entire meal, never once daring to lift her gaze. To Uyen Thanh finally spoke, her tone probing and tentative.

Tri Ninh, that Senior Brother Han at the birthday banquet... just how many influential connections does your adoptive father actually possess in the capital?

I picked up a mouthful of food without breaking stride.

I have never bothered to count.

She asked nothing more.

That afternoon, my phone screen suddenly lit up with a new WeChat friend request. The note attached read: Doan Lang, son of Uncle Doan. Once I accepted, a direct message instantly popped up onto the screen.

Ky Tri Ninh? My father and your father were fellow martial brothers under the same master. My old man told me to seek you out and have us meet. I heard you are currently staying in the capital?

I tapped out my reply and sent it back: Indeed. Pick the location, and I will be there.

He responded promptly with a location pin. It was not a high-end restaurant, nor a quiet coffee shop. It was a traditional martial arts training hall.